Something Of Spirit
by LifeOnMarsGirl
Summary: Set in a seaside town where Molly Hooper mourns after Sherlock commits suicide by falling from the cliffs of their hometown. AU Can be read as Sherlolly if you wish. Please read and review and PM me with anything you want changed. I do not own Sherlock, otherwise the show would be filled with constant angst.


Something of Spirit

Old woman: I feel free, as if the wind is carrying my body over the beautiful scenery I love and into the unknown abyss I have loved for so many years, watching the waves lap at endless cliff face sends chills along my spine and into my very core. Here I am, a crazy old woman, talking to herself, never to leave this place. The water holds so much power, the power of life, but also the power to conquer the land it exists between and to destroy anything that is in its path. I used to come here as a young girl… (Stares wistfully at an unknown point.)

Fading to the same scene, but there is more ground and less erosion)

(A young woman, no more than 18 stands at the edge of a precarious cliff face watching the waves roll out from beneath the tidal surge below. From her expression it is clear she is nervous as she waits for someone to arrive.)

Molly: (faces the audience) I like this place; it gives me a sense of calm, almost like the calm before storm. (Her face takes on a serious expression) The wind is comforting to me; it lifts the tussocks of grass from under my feet and whips them about, whilst leaving my body standing perfectly still. I usually wait here for my friend. I usually see the ships drifting in, their sails graceful, the waves lapping gently at the hull, the bow breaking the surge of the water, ploughing through the congealed algae like a waterlogged farm. But today, I see no ships, only the fierce surge of the waves, roaring like a wild beast, adding to the cacophony of the wind. (She shudders involuntarily) The cold sparks of salty brine spray wildly over the cliff face, slightly spattering my dress. I crouch, huddled for what seems like hours, sheltering my body from the horrific conditions, protecting myself from the oncoming storm that has already begun in the raging water. My friend does not return that night, I see no wooden hull, and no cheerful wave as the boat steers into the bay. They try to convince me that it was an accident, a trip, but my friend knows the shoreline better than I. I no longer hear the noise of the sails being hoisted, or the crab pots and nets being hauled, I hear silence, nothing but the endless scream of the empty shoreline and the never-ending thrum of the beating waves. The silence will never leave. A couple of days later, they find the remains of a sail, tattered and obviously broken from the hull. My friend never returns.

(a single wave sweeps over the cliff face and the erosion once again becomes apparent)

Old woman: I never knew how long that silence would last. Drowning out my life, my family, my home. It encompassed everything, and nothing. That silence was the echo of reverberations that began that day. I never found out what happened to my friend. And now it is too late. (a single tear rolls) My bones creak like the wood of a shipwreck tossed idly in the relentless rush of the sea, my heart beats to the rhythm of the thrumming air, slow. My skin is pallid, almost as white as the cliffs I stand atop of, and my lips flake like the subsident banks nearest to the unforgiving water. This disease (a look of disgust clouds her features) is ending my life, I don't have long left, maybe a few months, year at most. I don't have time to find out what happened to him It hurts me more than this disease ever could.

(slowly her hair begins to change from grey to brown and her wrinkles disappear)

Molly: We don't have much money now, what with the most of the community gone, that's what mother says to spare the little ones feelings "Gone" as if any day now they will return and embrace us and provide for us. We are like a plague, almost as if we made him jump. Like he isn't dead, like he isn't gone indefinitely. Like there is hope. Some of the time I think she believes her own pointless lies. But I don't, I simply carry on the only way I can, in my friends footsteps, trying to save my family and myself from self destruction. My mother seems to have lost everything. I plan to move away soon, I can't be a saviour forever. I'm sure they will cope, her and the little ones, this is what I try and convince myself of. But somewhere there is still a small glint of hope in my heart, shining, scintillating, glowing; that my friend is still alive, my mother's optimism is crushing my own. I would never admit it, but I long to be free of this stifling place; and so I'll leave, under the premise of education or finding work, and I am sure that I will be loath to return again.

Suddenly her hair begins to become grey again, her eyes glint like steel, devoid of hope or warmth)

Old Woman: My story is not a happy one. It is far from the fairy-tale life that I dreamed of in my naïve adolescence, of princes and fair lands where I would be free of pain and hatred. Because the truth is that I began to despise my mother after that day on the cliff, her with her whining and pining. As much as I missed my friend, part of me still blamed him for leaving us, for leaving us with only something of spirit.

I did leave eventually, I went to Brighton; to see the lights, to begin a new life. But I was still near the sea, never escaping the torrent of thoughts that thrummed with the waves on the shoreline, threatening to drag me back to its monotony, back to the past. I grew used to the stress of the life I was living, the slight tremor in my hand brought on by any small reminder of my family, my friend, cliffs, boats.

Once I looked out towards the pier and thought I saw him drifting idly in the waves. I was stupid, a 34 year old woman running out to the wooden jetty, my shoes thumping on the sodden timber beams, sea salt plastering my flushed face. To passer-by's I must have looked insane, not a care in the world. But that couldn't stop me from trying to get to him, just as I knew he would be, waiting for me. Because he never truly left me, he couldn't. The memories which had burdened my heart for so many years had finally began to corrupt my mind. And everyone could see. I still remember their faces…almost leering at me. (she shudders)

But now it is time, to end this misery, I'll slip away and no one will care. My existence has not been a happy one. Now it is over, my body cannot function anymore and my mind has begun its steady depletion, I myself am the cliff face, sheer, never-ending. Final. I am reduced to something simply, of spirit.

(she steps off the cliff, her dress billowing in the sharp wind)

(off in the distance a ship is seen, two translucent figures are embracing upon it, slowly it fades into the mist, till only small tendrils of fog remain)


End file.
